Bedfellows
by Gingham
Summary: "Phryne was in deep bliss. All these things had become essential to her, from the most passionate embrace to the easy domestic scenes she would have cringed at just months before. They'd barely spent a night apart. The only problem was, if she didn't get some sleep soon, she was going to kill him." A silly story about the realities of sharing a bed. Not related to any AU.
1. Chapter 1

**_One Side_**

It had been two months.

Two months since they finally stopped tip toeing around their maddening 'one step forward, one step back', their barely concealed attraction, their charade of a 'just business' partnership that was fooling no-one.

8 weeks since they had stopped denying themselves, something that Phryne had never been good at anyway. When it finally happened, she had expected tentativeness, guardedness, shyness. Instead there was such a rush of relief on both sides that nobody had time to care about what they looked like naked, or what might sound silly to say out loud, or to be self-conscious about speed, stamina or skill.

Not that Phryne had ever had any problem with self-consciousness before, but… this was different, with Jack. This was important. This wasn't going to be brushed under the carpet as easily as her previous dalliances. Something about that made her more nervous than usual, in the lead up.

But afterwards, it all seemed so silly. Yes, she had been right. This was not going to be swept under the carpet; but luckily she had no intention of attempting to do so. This coming together was relief, it was passion, but more than that it was the righting of something that had been wrong.

All of a sudden, all that had been closed off to her before was right there in front of her. She had spent so long living on scraps, delighting in the slightest touch, wringing whole fantasies out of the merest glimpse of the skin beneath his collar.

Sometimes, Phryne thought she should be given an endurance medal.

Now, like an epicure being presented with a feast after a long hunger strike, she had it all laid out on a plate. She could touch him, feel him, kiss him, everywhere. It was a whole new world. There was the surprisingly soft skin on the inside of his arms - she could kiss that as he held her now, pressing her lips into to it to feel the conflictingly hard muscles underneath. The gentle crunch of his hair at the end of the day. She could run her fingers through that now – God, how she'd had to stop herself doing that for months!

Before, their conversations were time-sensitive. They were either in the middle of a case, hot on the pursuit of some murderer, or otherwise they were amongst friends, and out of politeness couldn't _really_ spend the entire time staring into each other's eyes and whipping bits of banter back and forth between them in selfish exclusivity. (Though they made several good attempts.) Time and propriety even presided over their nightcaps like disapproving deities, forcing Jack to keep his eye on the clock and take his reluctant leave when the hour became just a little too inappropriate.

Now, their time together was limitless. Even when they were working, they could stay up half the night talking, their conversations slowing gradually until they drifted off into a contented sleep. And if they weren't, whole mornings seemed to disappear until gradually, histories and families and first boyfriends and girlfriends and childhood embarrassments and dreams were committed to memory.

Phryne was in deep bliss. All these things had become essential to her, from the most passionate embrace to the easy domestic scenes she would have cringed at just months before.

They'd barely spent a night apart.

The only problem was, if she didn't get some sleep soon, she was going to go mad.

Because Jack Robinson, love of her life, was a SNORER.

She hadn't noticed at first. The first week or so, she remembers, possibly, just… passing out. Everything was very… exuberant. The first time she did notice, it must have been a night where he was asleep before her. That was rare, actually. She was a very immediate person, herself.

 _I'm going to sleep now. Now I am asleep._

Jack took longer to unwind from the day, especially once the initial sheer disbelief and shock of being together wore off and the days became slightly more normal. Still wonderful. But a new normal. She didn't remember exactly… actually, yes she did, she remembered exactly. He'd come in late, exhausted and worn out by a long and fraught stake out, topped off by a raid and a laborious booking in process back at the station. He'd planned to go back to his bungalow, but Phryne had been unsatisfied at the thought of him climbing into a cold bed after such a day and given him a key. When he'd finally clambered into her sheets, strung out and annoyed at the incompetence of a fellow officer, Phryne had done everything she could to relax him and make him feel welcome. Afterwards, he'd fallen asleep immediately, and Phryne had been silently congratulating herself on a job well done, when…

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

She hadn't been annoyed. She'd actually smiled at him with affection, before snuggling up next to him and somehow (she couldn't understand, looking back, how this had been possible) merely going to sleep.

The next time was slightly more irritating. She was exhausted too. She'd been forced (alright, wanted) to go undercover as an Argentinian tango champion, and she had spent the day practising her steps. Perhaps the fact that she had coerced Jack into being her practise partner accounted for his uncharacteristically quick fall into the arms of Morpheus, but there it was. There _she_ was, with an early start the next day, desperate to sleep, and…

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

She dropped off eventually, but the next time, her body was less accommodating. It was the night after the proprietor of the Argentinian dance hall had been successfully arrested for cocaine distribution. Her muscles ached from the exertions she had put them through earlier in the evening – an extremely acrobatic tango had been required on the dance floor of the club to distract said proprietor long enough for Jack to search his office. Limbs throbbing, Phryne lay draped characteristically across the bed, the arm that was flung across Jack's chest rising and falling with his breath. Her body begged for sleep, but her mind was sharply focussed. No matter how she tried to distract herself, no matter how many sheep she counted, her conscious brain was stubbornly and fully occupied with charting the exact progress of his snoring.

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

In-furiating.

Now, she had got to the point where she was trapped in a nightly sleep-deprived cycle of despair. Each evening, she convinced herself she could get to sleep first. And some nights, she did. He probably snored then too, but it didn't bother her. But on other nights, where she was tightly wound, the very anxiety of getting to sleep first kept her awake. Then there was that low grumble somewhere in his throat that signalled the main event was about to begin. She would close her eyes tightly, fooling herself that if she just dropped off now, if she just beat him to it then she wouldn't have to…

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

She wanted to cry. And then came the silence. The silence was the worst part of the snore. The silence that made her think maybe it was just a one off.

Still silent. Maybe he wasn't-

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

Phryne rolled onto her back, hands over her face. Four nights in a row he had beat her to it. She cursed herself inwardly. Why hadn't she brought it up before? Afraid of hurting his feelings, she supposed, by suggesting he sleep in a guest room, or sleep at home or HAVE MAJOR SUGERY OR DO ANYTHING, REALLY, IF IT MEANT SHE COULD GET A DECENT BLOODY NIGHTS SLEEP!

Hurting his feelings. Phryne hmmphed silently. Look at what this love nonsense had done to her!

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

She loved him, she did.

"Hrggghhhh…Hhhhgruuuuuhhhh."

But she was going to kill him.


	2. The Other Side

**_The Other Side_**

It had been two months.

Two months since that one nightcap that changed everything.

8 weeks since the clock hand had ticked long past the time Jack had already marked out as 'appropriate time to leave'. That night, for whatever reason – maybe her perfume, maybe her unusually intimate and honest conversation, maybe the way they had sat together on the chaise to play their game of draughts rather than their more conventional seats – Jack had found the usually difficult task of leaving her nigh on impossible.

He had pictured, wondered, and imagined their first night together more times than he had cared to admit. In reality, all the nerves and anxiety he had worked up had gone out of the window as they both abandoned themselves to the passionate expression of almost two years of unbearable tension.

Afterwards, he forgot to think, as he had assumed he would, that she would tire of him the moment they fell into bed together. By the time he remembered to worry they would only have had one night together, it was the end of their third night. It wasn't going to be a short term liaison, he soon realised. This coming together was relief, it was passion, but more than that it was the righting of something that had been wrong.

All of a sudden, all that had been closed off to him before was right there in front of him. He had spent so long training himself to ignore her… assets. A formidable feat when one considered the sheer variety of scantily clad fan dances, mermaid tricks, circus acts and lap dances she delighted in flinging his way.

Sometimes, Jack thought he should be given an endurance medal.

Now, like an epicure being presented with a feast after a long hunger strike, he had it all laid out on a plate. He could touch her, feel her, kiss her, everywhere. It was a whole new world. There was the paleness of her lips when her make-up had been removed. He could taste them now, champagne or coffee or mint toothpaste, depending on the time of day. There was the soft glide of her stockings, swelling towards her calves and disappearing under her skirts. He could run his hands over them now – God, how he'd wanted to do that every time she sat on his desk!

Before, their conversations were often public. They were either in the middle of a case, hot on the pursuit of some murderer, or otherwise they were amongst friends, and out of politeness couldn't _really_ spend the entire time talking to each other. The only time they were truly alone was during their nightcaps. They were the only times, with only a couple of notable exceptions, that Phryne really let her guard down. She let him see her, _sans_ make up and fur and feathers, and more than that, without her cheerful mask of resilience that was so often in place when other people were around. That she let him see her like that, even rarely, was a privilege and an honour, but one than Jack knew had to end. Every time they were together, he was willing the minutes to last longer, knowing that propriety would soon require him to leave her.

Now, their time alone was limitless. Even when they were working, they could stay up half the night talking, their conversations slowing gradually until they drifted off into a contented sleep. And if they weren't, whole mornings seemed to disappear until gradually, histories and families and first boyfriends and girlfriends and childhood embarrassments and dreams were committed to memory.

Jack was in deep bliss. All these things had become essential to him, from the easiest domestic scenes to the passionate embraces he had anticipated with a mixture of excitement and, foolishly, terror.

They'd barely spent a night apart.

The only problem was, if he didn't get some sleep soon, he was going to go mad.

Because Phryne Fisher, love of his life, was a BED HOGGER.

He hadn't noticed at first. The first week or so, it seemed entirely natural to go to sleep tangled in each other's arms. Everything was very… exuberant. The first time he did notice, it was in the morning. She was stretched over him, her arm pinned across her chest rendering him basically paralysed. He thought she must be completely on his side, but as he tentatively raised his head, he realised she was stretched over the other side too, her leg and arm extended out to take over the whole bed. Himself, he kept to his own space as a rule.

 _Everything in its place._

That wasn't to say he didn't relish it; going to sleep in her arms. He had dreamt of just that for too long, after all. But as the nights wore on, the more he came to realise that using his body as a mattress wasn't just sweet, or adorable, or even his wildest hopes made real, it was also damned uncomfortable.

For one thing, it forced him to lie on his back, and he wasn't that comfortable sleeping on his back. At home, he always slept on his side. Rosie used to say he snored when he was on his back, though he was fairly sure she was making that up. Phryne would surely have brought that up if it was true!

For another thing, it wasn't natural to lie in the same position all night. One needed to shift and turn with one's sleep patterns. Jack wasn't a fussy sleeper, by any stretch. He'd managed to sleep in the trenches, after all. But after several years of sleeping solo, he'd become accustomed to a certain freedom.

Too often these days, he would wake up in the early hours of the morning, trapped by her limbs, stiff as a board and too conscious of her sleep to try and push her off him. Not that it was that easy either. She was a dead weight! One night, he remembered, he had spent the day watching her being tossed around a dance hall by an Argentinian drug dealer like she was made of paper. You wouldn't think a woman like that would feel like a ton of bricks only a few hours later, would you?

Jack stretched his legs, the only part of him he could move. Four nights in a row she had paralysed him like this. He cursed himself inwardly. Why hadn't he brought it up before? Afraid of hurting her feelings, he supposed, by suggesting she move away, or sleep on her side, or that he TIE HER UP OR DO ANYTHING, REALLY, IF IT MEANT HE COULD GET A DECENT BLOODY NIGHTS SLEEP!

Hurting her feelings. Jack hmmphed silently. He was going soft. He was a policeman for God's sake.

He tried to move, and failed.

He loved her, he did.

But he was going to kill her.


	3. The Conflict

**_The Conflict_**

"Did you just yawn?"

Jack looked at her in surprise. They had been going over her statement from the Argentinian undercover operation, and true enough, he had just yawned in the middle of her description of how her costume had allowed her to secrete various incriminating pieces of evidence about her person. It was slightly rude, he recognised, but hardly enough to inspire the look of angry irritation currently emblazoned on his partner's face.

"I'm sorry," he hastened to explain. "It wasn't what you were saying. I'm just a little – "

"You can't be tired?!"

Jack bristled. Why on earth couldn't he be tired? He supposed _she_ couldn't be tired, having spent the last few nights using his chest as an extremely comfortable pillow and arm rest.

"Now that you mention it, I didn't sleep that well last night."

Phryne let out a strangled noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a bellow of rage. She got out of the guest chair, pacing his office in a mounting fury.

Jack recognised that something had gone wrong somewhere, but he was damned if he could see where. "What's happening?" he asked.

Phryne looked at him in disbelief. "You certainly _seemed_ to sleep well last night!"

He shook his head in confusion. "How would you know? You were dead to the world?"

Phryne threw her arms in the air at the injustice. How could he possibly think her sleep had been anything other than criminally disturbed!

"There was no mistaking you for dead, certainly. No ghost makes that racket!"

"What racket?" Jack demanded, his voice rising in pitch.

"You snore, Jack!" Phryne cried. "You snore!"

There was a pause. Jack reddened, but roused himself to respond manfully. "I do not!"

"It's either that or I'm sleeping next to a threshing machine!"

"For Goodness sake…"

"And I use the word 'sleeping' in the loosest possible sense, Jack, because let me assure you there is precious little of that happening on _my_ side of the bed!"

Jack gave a mirthless laugh, remembering the image of her spark out across him at four o'clock that morning.

"What?" Phryne looked outraged.

"I assume you're using the phrase 'on your side' in the loosest possible sense as well?" Jack shot at her.

She was momentarily thrown off course, but rallied admirably. "Just what do you mean by that?"

"Nothing…" Jack backed down, still unwilling to risk hurting her despite her outburst. "This is a ridiculous conversation. There doesn't need to be this much fuss over a bit of snoring."

"A bit of snoring?" Phryne was shouting now, her eyes flashing with outraged fury. "You have no idea what it's like, Jack? Just lying there, waiting for it to end, waiting to sleep, waiting for you to SHUT UP!"

"Oh for heaven's…" Jack stood up. "I only snore, you infuriating woman, if I do snore, because you insist on pinning me onto my back every night with your flailing bloody limbs!"

Phryne's tone was ice. "I beg your pardon?"

"You take over the entire bed. I can't move. I'm used to sleeping on my side, but you pin me down so I get no choice in the matter."

"Oh, now, _this_ is a ridiculous conversation, Jack!" Phryne laughed derisively. "Why don't you just move me?"

"Do you think I haven't tried?" Jack cried. "It's like being in bed with a 150 pound octopus."

Phryne gasped in horror.

Sensing he may have gone too far, Jack reached a hand across the desk. "Look…"

"No, no!" Phryne cried. "Don't take it back. In fact, I wish I was an octopus!"

Jack sensed where this was going, but gave her it anyway. "Why?"

"At least octopuses are deaf!" she triumphed.

"Alright." Jack walked round to her side of the desk. "There's an easy way to solve this."

"Indeed," replied Phryne. "Maybe we just need a night apart."

Jack paused, nonplussed. "I was going to say you could give me a little space in bed."

"That's probably because you have dramatically overestimated the wisdom of comparing the woman you love to a giant octopus."

"You compared me to threshing machinery," Jack pointed out, but Phryne was already collecting her hat and bag.

"Not the same, Jack."

"Phryne…"

"It's not like we're joined at the hip, is it? I'm sure you can you survive one night at home."

Jack bristled. "I'm sure I can."

"Plenty of room." Her tone was barbed.

"Indeed." His equally so.

She put her hat on. "I'll be off then."

Jack sat back against his desk, watching her. Even now, infuriating as she was, he couldn't help admiring her spirit. Not to mention how beautiful she was when she was angry.

A night apart probably was a good idea, he reasoned reluctantly. Give them both a chance to catch up on their sleep.

"Phryne," he said, as she opened his door. She looked back.

He gave her a small smile. "Sleep well."

Her eyes softened, but she didn't allow her demeanour to change. Instead, she walked back to him, archly offering him her cheek. He smirked, taking her chin between his thumb and forefinger and kissing her gently on the lips.

Her expression had melted even more when they broke apart, and she was looking at him with something approaching affection.

"You too."


	4. The Solution

**Author's Note:**

When I set out to write this story, I didn't anticipate having too google "are octopuses deaf?" as part of the research. However, one of the more popular google questions, I noticed, was "are octopuses alien?", so I guess I'm not the stupidest kid in the internet!

Hope you enjoy this final instalment.

 ** _The Solution_**

The next day, Jack was just settling down to his mid-morning tea and biscuit when his door opened.

"Good morning, Jack."

She looked happy to see him, he noticed gratefully. Perhaps she had forgiven his octopus comment. He was certainly happy to see her, though he had precisely no intention of letting her know exactly how much.

"Good morning."

She flounced down into his guest chair, her expression one of arch pleasure. "And how was your night?"

Jack polished off his biscuit and leaned casually back in his chair. "It was very…" he pretended to search for the appropriate word. "Spacious."

"Indeed?"

"Indeed. How about you? Peaceful evening?"

"Quiet as the grave!" she answered quickly. "I never had a better night's sleep!"

"Is that so?" Jack asked.

"Yes!" Her answer was bright, but then she plucked nervously at her skirt, worrying at the fabric.

"Phryne?"

She gave a frustrated sigh. "Oh, all right. I didn't get a wink."

"Thank God." Jack sat up, leaning forward on the desk. "Me neither."

Phryne's eyebrows shot up in delight. "Really?"

"Not a wink." He smiled ruefully, remembering his night. "My bed felt enormous. I kept waking up because I couldn't feel you."

"You missed your octopus?" Phryne asked, smirking.

"I did."

"Well, I missed my threshing machine."

"Really?" Jack laughed.

"It was entirely too quiet," she complained, her eyes sparkling. "And even when I did drop off…"

"Yes?"

"I missed waking up with you," she admitted quietly.

Jack smiled. "Me too."

"Shall we try it together again tonight?"

"I think that's a very good idea."

She leaned over, helping herself to his last biscuit.

"See you tonight, Inspector."

()

"Alright, Jack. Show me how you like to do it."

Jack raised his eyebrows.

"Not that," Phryne admonished cheekily. "I think I've got the measure of _that_ , thank you."

Jack laughed, then shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I don't remember now."

"Come on, Jack. I can't help being tactile. If you won't cooperate by making yourself more revolting -"

"More revolting?" Jack repeated in consternation.

"So that I don't want to touch you." Phryne explained patiently.

"But I don't mind you touching me. I don't object to that at all. I'd just like to have a little say in the position I go to sleep, that's all."

"Exactly, so show me how you want to sleep."

Laughing, Jack settled down in the bed, lying on his side facing her, his knees bent up and his right arm under his pillow.

"Is that it?"

He paused. "I think so. You've made me self-conscious, now."

"Jack!" Phryne huffed, exasperated.

"I think this is it."

"Alright." She lay down facing him, trying to work out how she could inveigle herself into his personal space. Jack watched her, biting down on a laugh. She looked so serious.

"Our knees knock," she complained.

Jack realised then that she'd never had to learn to share a bed with someone. Most of her liaisons had been too short lived to have to deal with the problem of sleeping arrangements. She slept like she lived, fiercely independent and protective of her own freedom. That she was even willing to adapt and make space for him; that she actively wanted him to be that close to her; just that was humbling to Jack.

"Here," he said, and gently turned her round so that she was facing away from him.

"Hmmm," she mumbled, unsatisfied. But then his arms came around her and pulled her tightly into his chest, his body enveloping her from behind. Phryne felt a little wave of panic. She felt vulnerable like this; she had less control here than when she was sprawled over everything. With Jack's arms around her, she felt safe, but safety implied dependency and Phryne never…

His arms tightened around her. "There are several advantages to this," he whispered, squeezing her hip. His lips found her neck and nuzzled her softly.

Phryne calmed instantly. This was Jack, after all. A man who threatened her freedom less had never existed. "Mmm. I'm beginning to see that."

He smiled against her skin. "Good."

He pulled back and she felt his breathing start to slow down, steady and… thank God, silent. Their sleepless nights had left them both exhausted; there would be no lovemaking tonight. Phryne let her sleepy thoughts drift into the possibilities afforded by tomorrow morning.

Jack was drifting off too. Before he fell completely asleep, he murmured into her ear, checking on their new arrangement "Happy?"

"Happy."

After all, Phryne considered, as she fell gratefully into the arms of sleep. When it came to sharing a bed, sex was the easy part.

THE END


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